A Work Yet Untitled
by Othello934
Summary: A world full of strife, tension and madness. Enter if you will.....
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE: The Great Hall  
  
Dolbain walked through the hall, looking around him. He had seen it hundreds of times before, but still, there was yet another gorgeous detail he missed. The walls were covered in abstract images of the powers of the universe, as well as numerous images of the White Oleander, the flower sacred to the Oleanderites. At regular intervals were great big stained-glass windows, many with scenes from the Oleanderite docurine, surrounded on both sides by stone pillars half built into the walls, where gargoyles decorated their perches and above their heads, like a guiding light, hung elegant torches. The domed cieling followed the passage to it's end, where it opened into a vast room, that dwarved even the great frame of Dolbain.  
  
The carpeted flooring of the room had various designs, all interwoven into each other. It would take the most observant man on earth his lifetime to figure them all out. All over the room were other people, all in small groups, intently conversing with one another. As soon as he came in, they all seemed to go silent, and turn their attention to him. He licked his lips with discomfort, and tried to ignore their prying eyes, but every way he could possibly look were those impertenant eyes, all focused on him, with slight wary murmurs of voices interrupting the silence every once in a while. Dolbain knew they were talking about him. He didn't care, all he wanted was to see the Crowned Chancellor and get out, and leave behind the suspicious stares, belonging to those impertenantly rude people.  
  
He shifted his weight to his other leg as he stood near the center of the room. "You might as well get a knife to cut this tension," though Dolbain. By now, most people had gone back to their own conversations, to deal with their own situations. All but one, a woman he knew well from even before joining the Oleanderites. Nonae was her name, a name that carried much weight while he was growing up in the same neighborhood as her. She knew him well too. When other neighborhood boys would drool over her, Dolbain seemed to accept her as just another thread in the tapestry of life.  
  
"So, what brings you back to our Great Hall?" she asked. He jumped. She had come up from behind, and he never heard or saw her until she asked him the question.  
  
"I want to see the Crowned Chancellor...on confidential buisness," he replied. He knew her so well. "Here it comes," he thought, "she's going to interrogate me. 'What confidential buisness?'" He could almost feel the question in anticipation. But for some reason she didn't ask, but rather moved on to another topic.  
  
"Still wearing the sword? I would've thought you would've disgarded it by now. It's not like you need it anymore anyway."  
  
"Oh, you know why. It is, after all, a family heirloom. My great grandfather slaughtered many a Petrifyte with this sword. Just because I've learned to use the elements of nature doesn't mean I'm going to give up something like that. And despite my newfound skills, I still am a Commander in the Guard." There was silence for a while. He pretended to look past her and examine some of the other Oleanderites in the hall, but was still concious of her, standing there, looking for new things to draw attention to. It was yet another awkward moment in a place that was awkward for him, with the one woman who was awkward to him. He was glad when a man approached, and said, "The Crowned Chancellor will see you now."  
  
Dolbain, with a goodbye nod to Nonae, followed the servant. He knew the way well, but it was a common courtesy for guests of the Crowned Chancellor to be lead to their destination. The man walked very slowly, but Dolbain was glad, this way he could think. The hallway seemed to tighten into a tiny tunnel as his mind wandered to Nanae. Suddenly a sharp cough woke him from his train of thought. The servant was gesturing toward the door, and Dolbain three feet past it without even realizing it. With a mumbled thanks Dolbain walked into the room. It was also elegantly decorated, but compared to the hall seemed to be a hoghouse. A man stood at the window, staring off into space. Purposely making a loud footstep, Dolbain stood there, waiting for the man to snap out of his own train of thought. The long brown hair dangled in the wind from the open bay window, over a bright orange cloak with the Oleanderite insignia, a flower with sharp blades for petals and a large equal-sided triangle in the center of the flower.  
  
It was some time before Dolbain summed up enough courage to speak. "Chancellor, I am Dolbain. I wish to speak with you."  
  
"I know. I was simply thinking how it came to be that you deserted us like you did. Did we not treat you like our own son? Did we not provide you with nourishment for your own ambition? I still do not know the answer."  
  
"You and I both know why I left. It was for the benefit of both me and the Oleanderites for me to leave. I had no other choice." Dolbain grew annoyed.  
  
"No matter. Let's get on to buisness. The Vaelic Guard has sent you to be the go between for themselves and me. We're both dominant powers today, and we both have the desire for peace. The Su'dah are too much of a threat, and we can't afford to be at each other's throats anymore. We must join to face the coming threat," he turned to face Dolbain now, and looked straight into his eyes. "I see you've done well. A Commander in the Vaelic Guard - that's impressive."  
  
"Yes, I've been lucky. The Generalty took a liking to me. They put me in charge of the First Edict, the King's own bodyguards." Once again, someone was questioning him. He didn't like that. "Oh why can't you all just let me do my job already," he thought in desperation.  
  
"I can never work with you until you tell me everything about why you left, you know that," the Chancellor carefully said.  
  
"You want to know? Everybody wants to know. I walk into this hall, and all I see are people staring at me. Everybody's just looking, and not saying anything. You're the first who finally asked, and you're going to know. You people went too far. There was one Su'dah in that village. 'Kill them all, it's the only way to get rid of him,' those were my orders. A small, sleepy village with children playing, farmers innocently ploughing their fields, and the sweet smells of fresh baked bread and roasting meat from each of the houses. I couldn't kill so much innocence just to get rid of some pathetic misguided person who served the Darkness. So I defected to the Vaelic Guard, and told them to send guards to protect that homely little village from the next assassin you send after you find out what I did." Dolbain felt like he just threw a boulder he was carrying off of a cliff into the waters beneath.  
  
The Crowned Chancellor stood there and listened, even after Dolbain finished, staring a hole right through him. He could see perfectly well the anger, the hate, the maelstrom in the soul of this man, the only Oleanderite to ever go against the will of the Chancellor, the only one who escaped his grip. "That will be all, Dolbain," the Chancellor said, as he tugged the chord to summon the servant. "Show this man out," he said to one of the two servants who came in.  
  
"Goodbye and good luck to you, Dolbain. I look forward to working with you. Maybe one day you'll see the nessessity of what I ordered you to do, but it's obviously not today. Please send my greetings to the Generalty, as well as their wise choice for an adjutant he made when he thought of you," he said in a kind, fatherly tone, as he turned to the window. When Dolbain was gone, he turned to the remaining servant and said, "Tell the Hunters to have him killed, and to make it look like brigands. That man will hate us for the rest of his life." With that, he turned back to his window, which opened up onto a courtyard, a single figure walking through in the dusk. Only Dolbain. Soon, he rode out the gates of the fortress. 


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE  
  
The wheels of the cart turned, and whipped up mud on the dirty country lane. It was a blatantly hot day, the humidity and the heat hung together like a blanket in the air. A single man sat on top of the cart, with a single old horse who looked about as tired and old as it's owner. Jodnab was an old man by anyone's standards, eighty three with a clean-shaved face that has cracked and wrinkled in the trials of the elements, with a shock of grizzled white hair sticking out from under his straw hat. He sat there, tiredly looking into space, not really thinking of anything yet at the same time absorbed with that lack of thought. It was too hot to think. He was going in to town, to take some of his grain to the mill, and the barley, of course, to the brewery. Everybody at that age retired and had their kids take care of them, but Jodnab's wife had passed away long ago, and he never really recovered from that. He had no children to take care of him, so he was on his own.  
  
Suddenly a big brown haze attracted his attention to the side of the road. Jodnab had never seen anything of such a pure hazel-brown color, and it seemed to shine in that pale way that the eyes of a dog in the dark. His cart pushed closer to the unknown brown object, and soon enough, he saw it move. It was then that he came to realize, this was a horse, and the most magnificent horse he'd ever seen. It was completely colored in that hazel-brown color like it's just been dipped in a bucket of paint. Jodnab stopped his cart, and got off. "Who would leave such a dazzling horse to it's own in the wilderness," he thought. The horse sensed his approach, and turned away from the small patch of grass it was feeding on to face him. A small white oval patch appeared on it's forhead, which seemed to resemble a third eye in the shade of the trees.  
  
Upon reaching the horse, he realized it still had it's reigns, but no saddle. The reigns were apparently cut in half, both ends dangling uselessly and dragging on the ground with every movement the horse made. The owner was nowhere in sight, but while looking around for one, Jodnab found yet another colored patch, this one an electric blue lying on the ground on the other side of the road, in a ditch with the pointy branches of shrubs poking it. There was no mistaking the color - it was a cloak of a Vaelic Guard. The peace keepers, the military, and the heroes, all rolled into one. He had known that color from the time he was a little boy, looking up to the warriors passing through the village; on their horses, with their long, blue cloaks flailing in the wind. Before he knew it, he was looking down on the cloak lying in front of him. He suddenly realized, that partially hidden by the bushes was a man, still attached to the cloak, obviously critically injured. He bled from his shoulder through the large slash in his chainmail, although it was covered in a makeshift bandage; his face showed many bruises and cuts. His chest still pulsated with the sign of life, and although his breathing was erratic, it was also there. He was unconcious, mumbling to himself, words a lowly farmer could never make out.  
  
Jodnab knew his duty as a citizen of Andien. He remembered the long paper he was read on becoming of age, stating the responsibilities and the rights of the adult. "Any citizen must always help a Vaelic Guard in need," that's what one of the rules was that he swore to obey, yet now, the first time he had ever seen an opportunity to put it into practice he was struggling to reach a decision. He COULD help this man, but should he die while in his cart, nobody would look the same way at him again. On the other hand was his oath to the state. He didn't have long to think, and if Jodnab could be described in one word, it would be quick. He had made up his mind to pick up the stranger, and bring him to town at the fastest pace possible. "It's my duty to protect the protectors when they're in their most vulnurable," he thought bravely.  
  
He lifted the man onto his shoulders, but struggled all the way. He was known as the strongest farmer in the district, but the large muscular body of the man seemed so heavy and solid that lifting would take all his strength. Finally, he managed to place them an on his cart, next to the many bushels of wheat. The horse which he just remembered before he was about to leave was obviously belonging to the wounded stranger, so he decided to take it along, tying what was left of the reigns to the back of his cart, and pushing fourth. He didn't go five feet on his cart before he couldn't help looking back at his cargo. There were many interesting things to be seen there, on the chest of the man. His cloak was tied to the front of his breastplate, on a large circular pin, with the row of seven notches in it, five of which were filled with expensive jeweled stones. His father had tought him to tell the rank of a Vaelic Guard by the amount of stones, and this one was a Commander. Around his neck was a peculiar amulet - a prism-shaped clear emerald, with a gold cap on top, and a ring of gold which held the stone on the fine gold chain.  
  
As he sat there, mesmerized, he didn't even notice the first signs of civilization around him. Two farmer boys were playing in a small meadow behind a large, smokey workshop, the one of Holwan the town blacksmith. The children didn't seem to notice him, after all, he was just another farmer's cart driving into the town. Little did they know of what was inside. Soon, Jodnab pulled up in front of a large, sprawling house with a sign swaying the what little wind there was just above the door, announcing an inn. He dismounted from his cart, and ran into the inn. The innkeeper sat there behind a table, standing up on the farmer's rushed entry.  
  
"Looking for a room, are you, Jodnab?" He asked in a calm, surprised voice. Jodnab had never had a room at his inn.  
  
"Come look at what I've found on the side of the road!" Jodnab blurted out quickly, and rushed out again before the other could mutter a reply. The fat figure of the innkeeper soon appeared out the door, his blubber dancing about as he walked. Immediately on seeing the limp figure of the wounded stranger, he hollered for his stableboys to help Jodnab carry the body into one of the vacant rooms. He also remembered well the oath he made when he became an adult, to help a Vaeltic Guard. In less than an hour, the village doctor was there, along with a few curious citizens, the innkeeper, and the farmer, all staring down on the prostrate figure lying on the bed. Even though he had been changed into a pair of pajamas, his powerful figure still dominated the room. No one dared to speak, and finally the doctor broke the silence.  
  
"He's suffered quite a bit. He bled from that cut on his arm for the whole night, and he was evidently beat up pretty bad before. He'll live, but he neds his rest." The doctor delivered his diagnosis, and everything was silent once again. Suddenly, the injured man began to mutter even more, as if in a deep delirium. His eyes popped open, and he stared in surprise at the small group of people in front of him. The innkeeper spoke up first, "Dear sir, my name is Garroth, and I run the inn you're staying in. This man," gesturing slightly at Jodnab, "found you on the side of the road, and brought you straight here. Whoever attacked you is gone, and you're among the faithful people of Norlad. Perhaps you could tell us what happened to you?"  
  
It was quite a while before the stranger spoke. His sharp grey eyes seemed to absorb everything in the room, until he was satisfied he was safe. "I'm a Commander the Vaelic Guard. I was attacked by brigands while making my way from an ally, and now woke up here. Because of my buisness in this region, I cannot reveal anything more. I thank you for your hospitality, and assure you that this kind act will not go unrewarded. Now, I must get back to the Keep-" before he could move a foot, he collapsed back to the pillow, and did not attempt to get back up.  
  
"Your ribs sustained quite a beating," the doctor said in a lecturing voice, "it will be a while before you're able to get back on your horse and ride away."  
  
The man's face contorted into a feature of defiance, but he didn't try to get up again. He knew plenty well it was fruitless, and all he would do was inflict pain on himself. Finally, his face clouded over with an expression of acute resignation, and he spoke up again. "So, where am I? Liador? Morath? Dolyn?"  
  
"This is the village of Filban. We're simple village folk, and want no trouble," the farmer answered him in a suspicious voice. There was something he just didn't get about the man. He was obviously an Vaelic Guard as he said, but that didn't shield him from being evil. The strange amulet kept coming back to his mind, but he couldn't quite realize why. He seemed to know where he'd seen it before, but it felt like it was tied to a rod sticking out from the back of his head, and every time he turned to get it, it turned back with him. Then there was the angle of the brigands. Why would brigands attack an Vaelic military officer? No crook would want that kind of trouble. And why would a simple criminal leave him to be after he'd injured him, to bear witness against his crooked deed? And then, the most obvious thing - the bandage used to tie his shoulder wound. It was a rich, silky fabric of an orange color, none of which was worn by the man. Then, he must've torn it from his assailant, but a simple brigand would never waste money on an expensive cloak, especially of such a bright and bold color; they don't usually like to stand out. And what did they rob him for? His expensive studded sword, his horse, and his strange amulet were not taken, what then could've been the motivation for this assault if not for robbery? He knew that the others in the room were also a trifle wary of the newcomer, but none of them dared say anything to a man in command of their own protectors.  
  
"Ah, Filban," he stared out of the big, bay window across from him. It showed him a panoramic view of most of the village. "It seems so much like my home village, Rudarlin. Haven't seen it for years-" he trailed off. His eyes grew distant, his expression elsewhere. He saw the suspicious peeks they gave him. They may have been simple villagers, but they weren't fools. They realized his story didn't add up. But, once you tell it, you can't just recant it and make up a new one. It was the best one he could conjure up at the moment's notice, though it was a bad one. Flashes of memories of the night before still haunted him. The dark night, clear sky, with the big, pale orb, the moon, sitting there peacully, looking down on him. Riders from behind, stalking and chasing him, then finally striking him, and finally, the face of someone he knew, someone he couldn't quite identify, tying the bandage around his wound, then running off. It was all so confusing for him, because he'd been in battles plenty of times before, never, however, was he attacked in so furiously a manner down a quiet road. Luckily he was able to hide in the ditch from the antagonists, but he couldn't remember thinking of the ditch, or even seeing it. Right about when the sword struck his arm, and the beating that followed did the memory end. He remembered only blackness up until the milky memory of his unknown friend helping him with the bandage.  
  
One by one, the villagers in the room left, each making a clumsy excuse, clumsier thanthe man before him. Soon, there was only one left, a lad of maybe sixteen, standing there, observing him curiously. When he saw the stranger's head turn towards him, he quickly turned his attention to the window, hoping the man didn't see the move. "What's your name, boy?" Suddenly asked the stranger.  
  
The lad stammered, and finally managed to mumble out, "M-my name i-is Korr," it seemed awkward and short to him, so he added on, "what's yours?" The question seemed odd, and as soon as it came out, he could imagine the man becoming agitated at being questioned. To his surprise, he answered.  
  
"My name? You may call me whatever you wish. My true name isn't important, at least not yet, and not here. Tell me, how long are we from the nearest city?" The question was more of a brushoff from Korr's inquiry, but it had value in it. He wanted to know how far he must go before he reached a fortress of the Vaelic Guard, where he could let loose this halo of mystery and be frank. After all, military matters weren't for civilians.  
  
"A good ten miles, sir. It's a city called Moros. Oh, how big it is! The streets are lined with peddlers and buyers, the houses nearly stacked on one another, the cobbled streets..." he realized he was trailing off, so he forced his mouth shut. This man was a Vaelic Guard. He probably knew all about the city, of it's size, of it's streets, and of the cobbled lanes. For yet another time during the short interview, he could feel his face turning red. He could only imagine what he looked like. Beet-red cheeks, bulging eyes- the thought was humorous. He laughed slightly at the image in his mind. The stranger stared at him for a few moments, and then seemed to share his thoughts of the beet-red face and gave a little snicker.  
  
"In the middle of nowhere, huh? Well, that's just as well. The last thing I need is a city full of people, any of which might be-" he broke off. The sentence seemed to be aimed more to himself than to Korr. "Listen, Korr was it? I want you to do me a little service. You see, I'm waiting for a friend of mine here soon, so if you see any strangers while I'm cooped up in this bed, just drop everything and tell me. Understand?" Korr nodded. "Look sharp, lad, and you may just find a hansome little reward in your hands for it." The stranger rolled over on his bed to face the wall, and with a grumbled goodbye, he indicated the interview was over. 


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO  
  
Korr raced up the stairs as if the entire Su'dah army was after him. He burst into the door of the stranger, and found him awake, staring at him from those eyeholes which seemed like dark pools in the dusky shadows. No surprise was betrayed to him at all, just a look of curiosity. The entire expression seemed to ask Korr, "What do you want?"  
  
The boy burst into gasps of air. The run from the other side of the village tired him out slightly. The stranger patiently waited for him. "I saw...a...new face-" mumbled Korr. The stranger kept staring a hole straight through him, with those dark eyes. A sharp sound from behind him made Korr give a quick glance behind him. Upon looking back at the stranger, he almost fell over from fear. The man wasn't a man anymore - somehow. He still looked like the man who stumbled into their town, but something had changed about him, but he couldn't quite think what. He looked so powerful now, so dark, so evil...  
  
The stranger opened his mouth to speak, and said in a strange, inhuman voice, "You will serve me!" In a split second, he was on his feet, reaching up with both his hands, his face also pointing up, but staring at him through his half-closed eyes. Somehow, those eyeholes didn't seem so dark anymore - he could almost see a faint red glow coming from the eyes, illuminating the darkness around him with the blood-red hue. A spectral, misty figure faintly in the shape of a man emerged out of the stranger's now open mouth, and slowly the cloud was completely out of the body, and hovered above the floor. The blood-red light died in the stranger's eyes, and began to pulsate through the cloud. In a climax of light, it was gone, almost instantaneously jumping through the floor, straight down into the ground. The body of the stranger staggered, and slowly collapsed on to the floor. He seemed to be back to the normal, pre-existing self that Korr had met before. A sudden surge of the red light shot out from the body in a ribbon, and jumped into his hand. A sudden scorching sensation passed through him, and after raising the pained hand up to his face, he heard a fizzing sound, like the one you hear when you pour water on a fire, and saw a symbol of some sort - a a thick cross with a circle on on top, starting at the intersection of the two perpendicular lines of the cross. The pain was gone, but the sheer strangeness of this symbol appearing on his hand seemed so shocking. He was concious of a sudden laugh, deep, breathless and terrible, and looked up from his hand to see the stranger sitting on the floor, leaning on the bed, with his glowing red eyes laughing at him somehow...  
  
That's when yet anoth sharp sound jolted him. He was no longer in the room of the stranger, but back in his own bed, with the moonlight seeping in through the window, and the quick, steady beating of his heart was the only sound. "None of what I saw happened," he told himself. "It was all a nightmare; I'm never eating so much before going to bed!"  
  
But the cold sweat stood out on his forehead, and he raised his left hand to wipe his brow. That's when he saw it, the mark of the seven-pointed star, there on his palm, like in his dream. The charred black flesh of the lines stood out from his white skin in the moonlight as well as it would've done in the sunlight. He was now aware of a pulsating in that very hand, seemingly from the mark. It felt strange, as if he had another heart beating in his hand, pumping blood. The irresistable urge of sleep overcame him, he felt so drowsy in fact, that he faintly remembered his head falling on the pillow before his eyes closed, and a vortex of darkness seemed to suck up all of the light from around him, and he felt asleep.  
  
The next morning, he awoke and remembered no more incidents since his hand began to puslate. He now looked at it again, and there it was, that seven-pointed star he saw before. Yet now it wasn't as contrasted against his skin, rather it was much fainter, and only on close inspection could he see the marking - but it was still there, a branding for purpose unknown by a dream! How silly that would sound to anyone who saw the mark and he tried to explain to! He got out of his bed, and got dressed. He had chores to do, and sleeping in wasn't one of them. As he was milking the cows, he thought about the stranger at the inn. Most would think a dream like this is a preminition, and stone what they percieved as evil. But to Korr, this was all stupid. Stoning a strange man, highly ranking in Vaelic Guard, and just because of a strange dream he got he would stone the poor man, who was no doubt still recovering from his injuries? "No," Korr thought, "I don't believe in that jibberish. Then on the other hand, there was the etched mark of the seven pointed star..." 


End file.
